When in Rome
by Spikesgirl58
Summary: Napoleon is going undercover and Illya doesn't like it.


"I don't like it."

"There's a news flash for you." Napoleon Solo fixed his collar and gave his tie one last adjustment. He glanced in the mirror at his partner's reflection and smiled. "I'll be fine, Illya. I'll just pick up the microfilm and slip out at the first opportunity."

"It's what's likely to happen prior to the first opportunity that has me concerned." Illya regarded Napoleon with a serious expression before shaking his head. "I still can't believe this."

"Well, I can't say that I'm necessarily delighted with Agent Bennessy at the moment, but it will be fine."

"I can't believe he called you a… what was it again?"

"A cheap for hire butt monkey." Napoleon watched his partner try to hide his smile. "Guess he's still holding a grudge because I denied him that promotion. I don't think he meant any real harm. He was just blowing off steam."

"Yet none the less, he's placed you in a dangerous situation. Why can't someone else go?"

"Because our target has already expressed an interest in meeting me, thanks to Agent Bennessy's colorful description. It's exactly the foot in the door that we need. He wants me." Napoleon smoothed down his hair. "And me he shall have. And we will have the microfilm."

"No one is going to believe you're a call boy… man… what are you exactly in the scenario?"

Napoleon ran his hands down his lapels, straightening them. "Why? What's wrong?"

"Napoleon, you look like you're going to have dinner with the President, not provide sexual favors for a fee." Illya rolled off his bed to come up behind him. He turned Napoleon easily and started to undo his tie.

"What are you doing? I thought we'd already come to an understanding about this," Napoleon murmured, watching Illya's hands as they unknotted the tie. Illya yanked it free and tossed it aside. "That's $50 tie, my friend."

"Exactly. You make your living on your knees, Napoleon. You wouldn't be wearing an expensive tie. Nor would you be wearing a Jimmy Chen suit. More likely it would be something from Sears or better yet, not a suit at all, just pants and a shirt. They'll want to see what they've bought, Napoleon."

"It vaguely disturbs me that you are so knowledgeable about such things."

"Just because I don't sleep through the Section Eight briefings, you mean?"

"I wasn't sleeping… day dreaming perhaps, but not sleeping." Napoleon shrugged out of the suit jacket and opened the two top buttons of his shirt. "Better?"

"A start." Illya took a step away and regarded him again. "Have you had any experience in such matters, Napoleon?"

"What matters? Oh, you mean sex with a man? Yes, I've had experience. I'm not completely inept, you know."

"I'd never claim otherwise, Napoleon, but this man is going to know. This man cuts the fingers off of people who displease him." Illya reached down and took one of Napoleon's hands in his to stroke the back of it with his thumb. "And you have very nice hands, Napoleon." Illya raised it to his lips and kissed it softly. Napoleon's breath caught as Illya moved closer. "I'd hate for them to be damaged in any way."

"I'll try to come back… intact."

"Then prove it." Illya's breath was soft against the skin of his throat. "Prove to me that you've had a hundred men's dicks in your mouth and I'll let you go… without a protest… willing."

"If I don't?"

"Then I go instead."

"Illya, he knows you. He'll kill you." Napoleon struggled to regain control of the conversation. "We've already established that.

"Then I'll go in disguise or we'll send someone else, but not you."

"There isn't time…"

"We'll make time." Illya's hands skimmed up and down Napoleon's arms as he closed the gap. "My job is to protect your back, even when I can't be there. If you react like this when he touches you, he'll know. For your own safety, you can't respond,. It must be one sided."

"But I can't…"

"Ah, but you must." His hands had dropped to Napoleon's waistband and he ran his fingers along it front to back before returning to the front clasp. "For you, this is just one more in a long line of nameless fucks. Why would you become aroused?" As he dropped to his knees, Illya's deft fingers undid the button and eased down the zipper.

"Show me…how…" Napoleon's voice failed him as his penis was set free, erect and painfully hard. "Not to…"

Illya's tongue darted out, just to lick at a drop of the clear fluid collecting at the tip. "By always being the one in charge." He mouthed the underside gently and Napoleon's breath caught in a tight half whimper. "By listening to the reactions you are eliciting from your mark and adjusting your pace accordingly." He slid his mouth over Napoleon's penis, swallowing it, working it slowly and masterfully. "And by never, ever forgetting who has the power." He placed Napoleon's hands on his shoulders and resumed his sucking.

It was all Napoleon could do to hold on and stay upright. Where Illya had picked up and honed such a talent was as much a mystery as was a good portion of his other skills. With the Russian, it was easier just to shrug and carry on rather than ponder and deliberate. Napoleon felt his climax building, excruciatingly slow and wonderful, wrapped in both pain and pleasure until he could take no more. How he conveyed that to Illya was beyond him, but Illya suddenly increased both tempo and suction until Napoleon was certain he'd die before climaxing.

He didn't, but immediately he ran a hand behind Illya's head to make sure he hadn't blown a hole in it. All the while, Illya held him, allowed him his post coital pleasure before moving from his position.

"That was…"

"I know." Illya stood, looking for all the world as if he'd just finished watching a less-than-exciting TV program or sitting through a boring lecture. "And it's what you must do if you are going to live through this evening." Napoleon tucked himself back away. "If nothing else, that should take a little of your edge off. Remember this is never about your pleasure, only that of your mark's."

"That's going to be harder than it sounds."

"Not necessarily." Illya again took Napoleon's hand and place it upon his crotch. Napoleon was surprised; Illya wasn't the least bit excited. "It's merely a matter of properly schooling your thoughts."

"What if I can't?" Napoleon started working his hand, massaging gently.

"Then I find imagining doing Waverly is usually enough."

Napoleon closed his eyes against the visual. "I would agree." Napoleon smiled slightly as Illya began to react to his ministrations. "And were you… professionally trained for this?"

"By whom? The KBG? Surely you are jesting, Napoleon. Why would they waste my intellect on such things? I had other… reasons for pursuing this type of…," he swallowed audibly, "… training."

"I'll bet you did." Napoleon's hand never paused in his massage. "Look at that, there seems to be some life in the old boy yet."

"It's no older than the rest of me, my friend. Now show me what you know… what you've learned."

****

Napoleon Solo made a face and spit out a mouthful of toothpaste. He'd brushed his teeth a dozen times by now and could not get the taste of the man out of his mouth. He'd gargled, rinsed and swished until the inside of his mouth puckered from the mouthwash and still it remained a sour bitter taste that clung to his tongue.

At least the microfilm was safely on its way to UNCLE HQ in New York. He still had all his extremities and his honor was only slightly tarnished. He'd not be in a hurry to try his hand at this little scenario again. There were a few bad moments in which he wasn't sure he'd make it out alive. It was only his Solo luck that saw him through. He made a silent vow that he was going to make Bennessy pay for this little fiasco. A couple of month's worth of courier jobs should be just about right.

He finally abandoned the bathroom, certain his long shower had woken his partner a dozen times over. Illya's head had come up when he initially entered the hotel room, Napoleon had waggled his fingers at him just to reassure him that all had gone well and the Russian's head had dropped back down to his pillow. Just to be certain, Napoleon had stationed a couple of Section Twos outside when he left, just to make sure that Illya would hold true to his word and stay put. The last thing he wanted was his partner killed trying to rescue him.

For all intents and purposes, said partner was sound asleep now. Napoleon clicked off the bathroom light and moved towards his bed. After a half million hotel rooms, Napoleon had learned instinctively to memorize the path from the bathroom to the bed as soon as he entered a room. Now he moved easily in the darkness and crawled in between his sheets.

He didn't really want to think about what all the things he'd done in the name of UNCLE, but those were no different than a dozen other less-than savory things in his past. No, this was just one more affair, one more checkmark in the 'mission accomplished' column. If he could only get the man's taste out of his mouth and the memory out of his head, it wouldn't be as bad.

He glanced over to where he could hear Illya's steady breathing. It was odd. He hadn't minded Illya's taste and was it all that much different? Wasn't one man's semen much like another's? His mark this evening even mentioned it, asking who Napoleon had been with earlier. It had given Napoleon some validity, proving he'd been 'working' prior to their meeting, and he couldn't help but wonder if that hadn't been Illya's purpose all along.

"Illya?" He said it softly, in case the man was truly asleep.

"Problem?" That one word spoke volumes to Napoleon. It gave him leave to ramble on about the mission or to just talk in general. It gave him confidence, knowing that nothing had changed between them, not that he was afraid it might have. Their partnership, their trust was too strong for that.

He heard Illya move in his bed, obviously rolling toward Napoleon. "I don't know… I'm having... shit." Napoleon didn't swear as a rule, not in any language. But he also wasn't used to being tongue tied either.

"Just say what you need to say, Napoleon."

"This whole affair has left me with a really bad taste in my mouth."

"These sorts of missions often do. There's no shame in admitting they're unpleasant."

"No, I mean that I literally have a rotten taste in my mouth. I've tried brushing and gargling and nothing helps."

"And you are telling me this why? Do you think I harbor breath mints or gum in my pajamas?"

"No, but you harbor something else I found much more… palatable. If you know what I mean?"

For a long moment, Napoleon feared he might have misread their early exchange and that it might have been offered as a mere training for his evening's 'work,' but then a low chuckle greeted him.

"Yes, I think I know what you mean. Come."

Napoleon didn't pause to wonder about the double entendre of Illya's statement, he didn't wonder if this was a good idea, he didn't even wonder how he was going to write this up in the morning. He merely abandoned his bed, settled in beside his partner and started ridding himself of some of the evening's unpleasant memories with something - no, some**one** much more - tasty.


End file.
